


Bedside Manner

by Melibe



Series: Bad Medicine [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Beelzebub has eczema, Dermatologist Gabriel, Doctor/Patient, Dubious Consent, Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hastur and Ligur make guest appearances, He/Him Pronouns For Gabriel (Good Omens), How is that not a tag, Inferno (La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri), Nude Photos, Obsession, Other, Porn With Plot, Tea, Texting, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Touch-Starved, according to me, inappropriate relationship kink, mutual obsession, tea preparation as foreplay, that should also be a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: How had they forgotten about his eyes? Deep blue and so intense that he seemed to have more than two, a hundred eyes all aimed at Beelzebub, piercing each layer--clothes, skin, anger, pain. Being seen by Gabriel might have been the worst thing they’d ever experienced, except only the feeling of not being seen by anybody.-“Tell me, please tell me.” Gabriel knew it echoed their first visit, when he’d pried the words out of Beelzebub, but there was no command left in his voice. He was pleading now, plain and simple. “Tell me you want this.”-In which Dr. Gabriel Ark and his patient Beelzebub Lord come to an understanding.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Bad Medicine [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927267
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	Bedside Manner

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to seekwill for beta reading, Euny for art and garden consulting, and MerenwenNolat for tea consulting

Fuck. Shit shit shit _fuck_. Beelzebub fumed and snarled their way through one emergency meeting after another, until they finally had to accept that there was no way they’d be home by six. They took a break from reaming out vendor reps to text Gabriel, ‘Work exploded. Won’t be home until seven.’

They briefly considered apologizing, but it wasn’t their goddamn fault that a major software vendor had pulled out two weeks before the go-live date.

No read receipt. Shit. Was he already on his way?

Beelzebub shoved the phone in their pocket and stalked to the executive conference room. This would be the least productive meeting of all, but if they didn’t give the VPs a chance to whine today, they wouldn’t be able to hit the ground running on Monday.

Five minutes into Hastur’s aggrieved monologue, Beelzebub’s phone buzzed. They slipped it out under the table to read Gabriel’s text: ‘That’s okay. I’ll wait.’

They typed back quickly, ‘Are you already there?’

‘Yes. But I have my laptop, so I can get some work done in the car.’

As if they cared. Beelzebub ground their teeth, drummed their fingers on the table, and listened to Hastur for another two minutes.

They couldn’t let Gabriel sit in his car in the street. It was weird. ‘Go inside. There’s a key under the flowerpot.’

‘That’s all right. I don’t want to impose.’

‘Go in, jackass. I don’t want you creeping out the neighbors.’ Beelzebub didn’t give half a shit about their neighbors’ feelings, but the last thing they needed was for the paranoid busybody across the street to notice Gabriel and call the cops.

‘All right. Which flowerpot?’

‘The Lobularia.’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘Google it. Idiot.’

Beelzebub glanced up and around the table. Hastur was still ranting bitterly. The other VPs were getting antsy. “All right, thanks for your valuable input,” interrupted Beelzebub, not even trying to hide their sarcasm. “Ligur, can you update us on the situation in HR?”

Ligur was probably the only person at the company, besides Beelzebub, to whom Hastur would willingly cede the floor. As the HR VP launched his list of complaints, Beelzebub’s eyes returned to their phone. Their thumb was already swiping back to the start of their texting history with Gabriel, as it had done far too often over the past week.

The first message was his Saturday check-in. ‘Good morning, Beelzebub! How did the wet wrap work?’

An hour later, when they hadn’t responded, he wrote again. ‘If you send a picture, I can determine whether the treatment needs modification.’

You goddamn prick, they raged, the treatment needs significant fucking modification. You can’t say you’ll take care of me, then leave me like that. You can’t fucking kiss me good-bye, then text the next morning like it didn’t happen.

After Gabriel had left, Beelzebub had burned all night with twin fires in their heart and their cunt. They’d searched for something, anything, to rub on. Nothing in the house would do. They needed his lips back on theirs, his hand back between their thighs.

And now he wanted a picture? Fine. Beelzebub had already peeled off the wraps. Throwing themselves onto the bed, they lifted the phone to capture as much of their naked body as possible. They took a photo and eyed it critically. Their legs were splayed wider than they’d realized, their free hand clenched in a fist. They looked both horny and angry. 

Well, that was accurate. If it disgusted Dr. Gabriel Fucking Ark, so much the better. They hit send.

His response came in a few seconds. ‘Very nice. Your skin certainly looks improved, but the important thing is how it feels. Are any particular areas bothering you?’

 _Any particular areas._ What a coy motherfucker. Beelzebub closed their eyes, finding it all too easy to imagine him beside them. They recalled his gentle voice, encouraging them to touch themselves. Their cheeks flamed with the memory of begging _him_ to touch them, instead. They reached between their legs to try to replicate the feeling with two of their own fingers. It was all wrong, but better than nothing, and they fucked themselves until they were panting.

With their dry hand, they fumbled for the phone to snap a close-up of their cunt, fingers still buried inside. After checking to make sure he’d see the wetness that had trickled down to pool in their palm, they sent it. Then they dropped the phone and finished themselves off, thinking only of Gabriel’s hands on their skin and his murmurs of _You’re doing so well_.

He’d answered by the time they caught their breath and picked up the phone again. ‘Thank you for trusting me with this. It takes courage to ask for what you need.’

What the fuck? Beelzebub hadn’t asked for anything. Before they could come up with a coherent response, he wrote again. ‘Let’s schedule your next appointment. Same time?’

“Something important to share, Lord?” growled Hastur from across the table.

“None of your business.” Beelzebub hurriedly turned off their phone and waved Ligur back to his seat. “Come on, who else has lamentations? I don’t want to be here all damn night.”

It was nearly seven when they escaped to their car at last. They texted Gabriel, ‘Leaving now. Home in 15.’

As soon as they saw the sent message, they wanted to tear it back out of the screen with their teeth. Who was Gabriel to them, that he deserved that kind of update? He’d said he would wait. He could fucking wait.

His reply came instantly. ‘I’ll be here. Take it easy.’

Beelzebub did not take it easy. They drove home with their teeth clenched, fingernails digging into the wheel, heart hammering as they wondered how the evening would go. Would Gabriel wrap them up again? Would he do it tighter if they asked him to, pin their arms to their sides and bind their legs so they couldn’t move? Would he hold them like that, all trussed up, if they asked? Would he kiss them again? They couldn’t fucking ask.

Could they?

They pulled up behind his white limited edition Prius, resisting the temptation to rear-end it only because they didn’t want to scratch their own flawless paint job. They hated having his car here.

Inside the front door, they threw down their briefcase and sniffed. The air smelled like chamomile. Had Gabriel brewed their own fucking tea in their own fucking house?

He confirmed this suspicion by stepping into the hall and offering Beelzebub a mug. His cloud-gray turtleneck looked impossibly soft. “Welcome home.”

How had they forgotten about his eyes? Deep blue and so intense that he seemed to have more than two, a hundred eyes all aimed at Beelzebub, piercing each layer--clothes, skin, anger, pain. Being seen by Gabriel might have been the worst thing they’d ever experienced, except only the feeling of not being seen by anybody. 

Beelzebub grabbed the mug and eyed its watery, under-steeped contents. “Ugh. What are you even doing here.”

“You invited me inside,” he said mildly. “You insisted, in fact.”

“I hoped the bees on the Lobularia would sting you,” they said, which was partly true.

“No, they were much gentler with me than you are.” He smiled. “It sounded like you were having a stressful day, so I made you tea.”

Beelzebub tried a sip. It was horrifically sweet. “Always fix tea for patients on your house calls?”

“I don’t know,” he answered with a shrug. “This is only my second house call.”

Something like joy swelled inside them, at once comforting and electrifying. They tried to ignore it as they shouldered past Gabriel and emptied the mug into the kitchen sink. “Well, I don’t drink tea.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the half dozen tins of loose leaf arrayed on the counter.

“Fuck, I just--I don’t drink tea that other people make for me, okay?” Beelzebub slammed the mug down.

“You shouldn’t be so rough with ceramic.” Gabriel moved behind them and rested his hands on their shoulders. The warm weight soothed and grounded. “It’ll break.”

“Thanks, asshole, I know how hard I can drop my own shit without breaking it.”

“But what about stress fractures?” His thumbs kneaded the base of their neck, pressing into the knots. “You might not see them, but they’ll spread. Eventually, pouring in hot water will be enough to shatter the mug.”

Beelzebub wanted to give him shit for the lecture. Ask if he thought he was a physicist as well as a physician. But his wide palms were squeezing their shoulders, his thumbs rubbing up the sides of their neck. They made a quiet, wounded sound.

“You’re really stressed, aren’t you?” They could feel Gabriel leaning over them, his breath stirring the hair on top of their head. “Tell me how you like your tea, and I’ll fix you a new cup while you get in the bath. The tub’s already full.”

Beelzebub gripped the edge of the counter. He was massaging around their shoulder blades now, rubbing away the day’s tension. They wished their clothes were already off.

With the radiant heat of Gabriel’s body right behind them, they couldn’t help imagining it. If he took one step forward, they’d be pinned. He could lift them up and take them like that, bent over the counter. Or he could turn them around so they could wrap their legs--

“How do you like it?” he asked softly.

“ _What_?” they gasped.

“Tea. How do you like your tea?”

* * *

Gabriel watched the kettle come to a boil, listened to his patient taking a bath, and tried not to groan out loud. How could he keep giving Beelzebub what they needed, when his own need had grown so urgent?

He had to rise to the occasion. He winced at the metaphor, adjusted his slacks, then continued his internal pep talk. He was the only doctor who knew how to provide appropriate, sensitive treatment for Beelzebub’s condition. It would be the height of negligence to back out simply because they’d come to inhabit all his fantasies.

The kettle clicked off. He scooped a heaping teaspoon of chamomile lavender blend into the strainer and placed it in the mug, which he inspected for hairline cracks before adding hot water.

He set the timer on his phone for six minutes. Then, even as he told himself not to, he scrolled back to Beelzebub’s photos.

Hairline cracks. Microfractures. They spread in his heart every time he saw Beelzebub’s body laid out on their bed, tense and hungry, teeth bared at the camera. Every time he remembered the desperation that hid under the sneer in their voice. He’d lost count of how many times he’d brought himself off thinking about them.

At first it had been quick and clinical, handling a physiological reaction to an unusual therapy. It had gotten progressively less simple, until he was embracing a pillow as he fucked his hand, playing over and over the raw sound of Beelzebub calling his name at the end of their last appointment. He’d kissed the top of the pillow after he finished, and couldn’t even find it in himself to be mortified.

The timer beeped. Gabriel took out the strainer and added the quarter teaspoon of honey that Beelzebub wanted.

When he carried the mug into the bathroom, they were lying back with their eyes half-closed, black hair swirling around their head. The glorious shape of their body dipped in and out of the water. One of the cream-colored towels he’d given them hung next to the tub. He told himself not to ascribe too much importance to it. He failed.

“Beelzebub," he said quietly. They looked up. “I’ll put the tea here on the mat for you, okay?”

Their mouth said nothing. Their eyes said everything, darting from Gabriel’s hands to his lips. Did they know how their yearning showed on their face? Did they know how weak it made him?

He’d planned to leave them to the bath and the tea, but now he dropped to his knees beside the tub. When he spoke, the hoarseness of his own voice was a surprise. “Do you need anything else?”

Beelzebub pushed up to sitting. Again their eyes journeyed over him. Their tongue traced their lips, the same gesture Gabriel had noticed in his office and on his last visit. He’d resisted the first time. Hadn’t been able to, the second.

“Anything, Beelzebub,” he said. “Only tell me.”

“Kiss me?”

Gabriel made himself move slowly. He leaned over the tub to take their head in his hands, tilting it up and holding it steady as he touched his lips to theirs. They were warm and rough, wet from licking. 

Greedily he absorbed every detail--the movement of their opening mouth, the whine in the back of their throat, the sudden wetness of their hands lifting from the bath to grip his neck. Their hard little fingers dug into the base of his skull, possessive and needy. Their tongue came out again, and now Gabriel knew how it felt on his own lips, and thought he might combust with the knowledge.

He could have kissed them until the world ended, but his back protested the angle and the edge of the tub dug into his ribs. So he drew away, letting his hands slide from Beelzebub’s head to their shoulders, settling them into the water. 

“If your tea gets cold, you’re going to yell at me,” he said with a smile. “I’ll go set up in your bedroom. Come in when you’re ready.”

A blush overlaid the rash on Beelzebub’s face, turning it vivid red. “Fucking--fine.”

Gabriel swiveled awkwardly on the floor so he could stand and walk out with his back to Beelzebub. His inconvenient erections had so far escaped their notice, and he was trying to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

Their bedroom was as dark as the rest of the house, but Gabriel found a bedside lamp, and its gentle illumination welcomed him. They had a wrought iron bedframe, a deep indigo duvet. He turned it down and checked the tag. Bamboo, hypoallergenic. The white silk sheets, free of dyes, would be easy on their skin.

He knew Beelzebub didn’t want him in their bedroom. He also knew they needed him here. It was healing for them to be seen and touched in their most intimate places. And if that also facilitated Gabriel’s fantasy of being more than their doctor . . . well. They never had to know.

The art on the walls drew his attention. An unexpectedly homey quilt, a painting of flowers thick with impasto. A hanging wooden sculpture that was a riot of fruit--grapes and guavas, peaches and pineapples.

“I made that one.”

Gabriel continued facing the wall, so Beelzebub could get used to his presence in this space while they were still unseen. “It’s remarkable.”

“Maybe. Could’ve been better. Had to stop carving.” He heard their irritated growl, the creak of the bed as they lay down. “Anyway, I didn’t order a house call from an art critic.”

He turned around to see Beelzebub sprawled naked across the sheets, flat on their stomach, face buried in a pillow. He reveled in the view, admiring everything from the curves of their calves to the thatches of hair under their arms.

And their skin. It was always changing, smoother in some places and rougher in others, sores scabbing over, blisters opening or fading away. Gabriel didn’t want to miss any of it. He longed to track every flare and subsidence, to map their body day by day.

 _Stop thinking about what you want. Think about what they need._ Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed and reached into the small bag he’d placed by the lamp. Then he paused with his hand on the cream. They had asked to be kissed, hadn’t they?

Leaving the cream in the bag, he stretched out carefully beside them, propped on one elbow. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to their back, between their shoulder blades. Beelzebub shivered.

"God," he said into their skin, voice cracking. "You're so beautiful."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm--"

Gabriel reached around to cover their mouth gently. "Don't argue with me."

Beelzebub lay silent and still, save for another shiver. Keeping his hand in place, Gabriel traced each scapula with kisses. “You’re small, but never delicate. There’s so much strength packed into your body. It’s stunning.”

He brushed his lips down their spine and caught their whimper in his palm. “And the way you talk--unashamed, unapologetic. I love it.”

Gabriel was slipping over the lines he’d drawn for himself by bringing up his own feelings. But perhaps Beelzebub also needed this, to know that their beauty could affect others. He shifted onto his knees so the hand not on their mouth was free to stroke down their side and up the back of one thigh. “You know, I hadn’t seen you dressed for work before today. You look so sharp in a suit, really sexy.”

Beelzebub made a muffled protest, their tongue flickering against his skin. Their legs had fallen apart and Gabriel could see what waited for him, already nearly as wet as in the picture they had sent. 

Before touching them there, he tried nudging one finger into their mouth. They sucked it in like they’d been starving for it.

He slipped his other hand between their thighs and their hips pushed down, grinding it into the mattress. Their shivers had strung together into continuous trembling. He would do anything for them, anything. He let them suck on a second finger as he rubbed their cunt.

“I keep thinking about you between appointments,” murmured Gabriel. “The colors of your skin, the sound of your voice. The way you let me care for you, even when it isn’t easy.”

One of Beelzebub’s fists beat a pillow, which he might have taken as a sign to back off, if they weren’t mouthing so messily at his fingers and rutting so frantically against his hand. Next time, perhaps they could go slower. Right now, he needed to take the edge off. He couldn’t see what he was doing, but he knew anatomy upside-down and blindfolded. He found their clit and pressed right over it, moving in small firm circles.

Beelzebub bit down on his fingers when they came, hard enough to leave marks. It brought Gabriel’s cock to full attention. His breath caught in his throat as he watched their body arch and twist with pleasure, their cunt dripping on his hand.

“Gorgeous. God, just look at you. You’re so gorgeous.”

They were already shaking their head, denying it. Gabriel took his hand from their mouth and rolled them over to face him. He spoke firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Watching you orgasm, Beelzebub, it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You _say_ that.” They glared, shaky and belligerent. “When it comes down to it, people like you don't _fuck_ people like me."

"There's no 'people' here. It's just us." Gabriel felt his pulse pick up as he cupped their cheek, resting his thumb on their chin. "Is that something you want?"

“Fuck you, I’m not going to answer that,” they spat, and jerked away. “If I say yes, you’ll do it, because you’ve got this vision of yourself as the doctor who goes above and beyond. I don’t need your fucking charity.”

"That’s what you think this is? Charity?" It was a struggle to keep his voice steady. He got off the bed and stood up.

Maybe he’d been wrong to hide his reactions from Beelzebub. Maybe what they needed, and what he was aching for, were one and the same. 

Slowly and deliberately, he unfastened his slacks. He let them drop to the floor. He pushed his underwear down to join them. "Look. This is what you do to me."

Beelzebub’s eyes widened at the sight of his stiff, straining cock. He saw their throat bob as they swallowed. They seemed mystified, searching for an explanation. “Is this. Because you saw me in a fucking business suit?”

“No. That was incredibly hot, but I already wanted you.” Gabriel reached into the bag on the table and pulled out a condom. He’d packed it just in case, just to be thorough, just because you could never be too prepared. He hadn’t expected to use it as proof of premeditated desire, but he was glad now that he could. “Beelzebub, I was hard for you that first day in my office, and I’ve only wanted you more every time since then.”

Their gaze slid from the condom back to his cock, and then to his face. “Could have fooled me.”

“Only because you weren’t looking. God, if you’d opened your eyes while I was applying the cream on my last visit? I was a wreck. I almost came in my pants, seeing how you offered yourself to me.”

“I did not,” Beelzebub hissed. 

But they were doing it again, their knees spread wide on the bed. Oh, they needed this as badly as Gabriel did. He could have wept from relief. He tore open the package and began to sheath himself. “You were desperate, and so was I. When I went to the kitchen to wet the gauze, I had to drink some ice water to calm down.”

“Why?” They sounded almost petulant. “Why didn’t you do it, if you knew we both wanted it?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to stop, once I started.” He heard how ragged his own breathing had become. He climbed back onto the bed and moved between their thighs. “It’s the same now, beautiful, I won’t be able to stop, are you sure you want this?”

They gave a short, hysterical laugh. “You called me desperate, and now you’re asking?”

“I’m asking. Tell me, please tell me.” He knew it echoed their first visit, when he’d pried the words out of Beelzebub, but there was no command left in his voice. He was pleading now, plain and simple. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this.” They brought their hand, small and sure, to guide him into position. “I want _you_.”

“Oh God,” moaned Gabriel. He couldn’t quite believe that Beelzebub’s fingers were wrapped around his cock, their hips lifting to meet him as he pushed slowly into their welcoming heat. He leaned down, bracketing their head with his arms.

The sight of their cunt, stretching to take every inch of him, seemed a vision tailor-made to ruin Dr. Gabriel Ark. But then he looked at Beelzebub’s face and nothing could compare. Their pupils were dilated, their cheeks flushed, their lips wet and red from sucking his fingers. Their breaths came fast and fluttering.Gabriel shifted his weight to one arm so he could touch the feverish pulse in their throat. “Are you okay?”

They gave a jerky nod. Gabriel laid his hand flat in the middle of their chest. “You are. You’re okay. Take a deep breath for me, as deep as you can.”

Beelzebub filled up their lungs, lifting Gabriel’s hand. As they did, the muscles of their cunt clenched impossibly tighter around his cock. He fought to model calm breaths for them. “Now breathe it all out, nice and slow. Just like that. Perfect.”

They scowled, hands gripping his hips. “Are we breathing or fucking?”

“Both, I hope.” Gabriel caressed their breasts, then slid his fingers up to check their pulse again. “I know you’re excited, but if you hyperventilate you might pass out and miss all the fun.”

“I really--really hate you,” they bit out. But they were taking deeper breaths now, and their heart rate had slowed. Gabriel felt ready to slide out a few inches and press slowly back in. Their natural lubrication made a wonderfully slick sound as he moved. 

“Oh, listen to you,” he marveled. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

He pumped his hips again and rubbed his thumb over their nipple, feeling it tighten. Beelzebub’s next breath was voiced into a moan. “The sounds you make,” sighed Gabriel. “Remember how you cried out in my office? I lived off that memory for weeks.”

They bit their lip, as if determined not to make any more noise out of sheer perversity. Gabriel rocked his hips and pinched their nipple and a whine slipped between their teeth. He smiled. “You’re extraordinary.”

“I’m sure you say that to--to all your patients.”

“Never.” Gabriel leaned down to kiss them, running his tongue over the lip they’d bitten, coaxing their mouth to open for him the way their cunt did. He poured all his fervent desire into both places their bodies joined. He’d thought he had to hide it, but how wrong he’d been. Beelzebub needed to know.

He murmured against their lips, “I’ve never done anything like this.”

Not with a patient, not with anyone. There had been a few relationships, sure, but none had so thoroughly enthralled and consumed him. It felt like his entire life had been leading to this--every exam in medical school, every late night during residency, every high and low of setting up his own practice. All bringing him here, to Beelzebub.

“Look at you.” Gabriel wrapped his hand around their thigh and lifted it toward their chest, the new angle startling a cry from Beelzebub. Their hips pushed up to meet his thrusts, harder and faster and wilder. “You’re so--so responsive. God. _Fuck_.”

Sweat trickled down Gabriel’s back as he picked up the pace, following their lead. When they tensed and came with a long, low, filthy moan, it nearly finished him off. Beelzebub’s pleasure drowned his senses, their cunt squeezing his cock, their sobs in his ears, their face cracked open in ecstasy. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to hold on a little longer.

Then Beelzebub began to touch him, the hands that had been anchored on his hips sliding up his chest. Their nails dragged over his shoulders. “More,” they demanded. “I need more.”

Gabriel, still buried inside them, worked an arm under their back and rolled until they lay on top of him. He gazed up into their blue-black eyes. “Take it. Take anything you need.”

They began to move, carefully at first, like they were curious what might feel good, like they hadn’t done this in a long time. Gabriel stroked their arms, their breasts, their thighs. “God, you’re exquisite, riding me. It’s even better than I imagined.”

Beelzebub braced their hands on his chest. “Shit, you don’t stop talking, do you? You just love the sound of your own f-fucking voice.”

“I think _you_ love it.” Gabriel grinned. “It’s not enough for you to see and feel how hard you make me. You want to hear about it, too. You want to hear how I jerked off looking at those pictures you sent. I was jealous of your own fingers stuffed in your cunt, wanted them to be my fingers, wanted them to be my cock,” and he grabbed their hips and drove up into them, matching their rhythm as they shuddered towards another edge.

Every movement tore desperate sounds from Beelzebub’s throat. Gabriel brought his thumb around to rub their clit--with considerably less finesse than before, but it didn’t seem to matter. Beelzebub grabbed his hand with their own and pressed it down harder, then threw back their head and wailed their climax to the stars.

Gabriel shattered.

Pleasure so intense it nearly hurt crashed through him. He cried out Beelzebub’s name, his only reality in that moment. He clung to them, insensate to anything but them. The rest of his medical practice--the rest of his life--fell away like shed skin. He felt raw and new.

He was still trembling with aftershocks when Beelzebub lifted off him and curled at his side, their head on his shoulder, one arm across his chest. Gabriel gathered them close and listened to the syncopated duet of his breathing and theirs. He tried to remember why he was here. What he was supposed to be doing. 

Finally it came back to him enough that he could croak through dry lips, “Shall I apply the cream now?”

“No,” said Beelzebub, gripping him too tightly. He’d have bruises tomorrow from those sharp fingertips, and he liked the idea. But he didn’t like how Beelzebub’s chest heaved and their voice broke on the second “No."

“Why not?” he asked quietly. “Sweetheart? Why not?”

“Because then you’ll leave,” they muttered, and _shit_ , those were tears, falling hot on his skin.

“I won’t.” Gabriel turned and locked his arms around them, trying to swallow the pain climbing up his own throat. “I won’t leave. I’ll stay--” _Forever._ “As long as you want.”

“Then you can apply the fucking cream in the fucking morning,” they sniffed.

Gabriel managed to smile. “I believe I prescribed it _twice_ a day.”

“Then I guess you’re staying tomorrow night, too.”

He laughed, more from joy than humor, and peeled reluctantly away. “I have to take care of the condom,” he told them. “And then I _am_ going to put the cream on, and wraps too. But you can rest while I do it. Even if you fall asleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be, asshole.” Beelzebub looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen them. They stretched on the sheets, eyes shut, hands loose.

When Gabriel finished in the bathroom and settled back on the bed to moisturize their skin, he found the taut intensity of the last two appointments replaced by a peaceful intimacy. He covered Beelzebub’s body with long, smooth strokes, and it felt like a lullaby. By the time he’d wrapped gauze over the final patch of eczema, their limbs had grown heavy.

Hoping they weren’t quite asleep yet, Gabriel asked, “Where are those cotton sweats?”

“Bott’m drawer,” they mumbled.

He found the dresser, found the clothes neatly folded, and brought them back to Beelzebub. He worked the sweatshirt on first, to keep their core warm. Their arms flopped in every direction except through the sleeves, and Gabriel sighed. “Are you making this hard on purpose?”

“Never make you hard on purp’se,” they giggled. Great, they were sleep-drunk. Gabriel shook his head and reached for the sweatpants. He maneuvered Beelzebub’s legs in, pulled it up to their waist--and noticed the text printed across the back.

 _Abandon all hope, ye who enter here_.

Gabriel almost choked trying not to laugh. He could tease them about it in the morning, he decided. For now, he didn’t want to risk being kicked out of bed. He pulled up the covers, turned off the light, and drew Beelzebub into his arms.

His last conscious thought before drifting off was that the warning had come far, _far_ too late.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end of a series I would never have written without being immersed in such an inspiring, enthusiastic fandom. I love y'all. <3


End file.
